From Beyond
by bonkersfm
Summary: Post IWTB, Mulder and Scully's relationship is put under strain when a casefile leads to some very bizarre behaviour on Mulders part
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: From Beyond

AUTHOR:Bonkersfm

CATEGORY:MSR CASEFILE

SPOILERS: Starts after IWTB

RATING: NC17 sex and violence

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully's relationship is put under strain when a casefile leads to some bizarre behaviour on Mulders part

DISCLAIMER: mine? If only!

CHAPTER ONE

(Day one)

"Just sit back and relax. Close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. In . . Out . . .In . . .Out . . . In . . ."

"You sit alone in a dark room. Toward the front of the room there is a screen. As you look closely, words begin to appear on the screen. You focus on the words now, nothing else matters. The words are blurry but as you drift towards them, they begin to clear."

"Mulder?" A soft voice accompanied a gentle touch to his hand. "Mulder, can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes, taking in the sight of the brunette hovering in front of him.

"Do you think it will work?" The other female asked, holding a familiar hand against his soaked brow.

"Of course it won't work. It's just a bunch of mumbo jumbo crap. Monica, what he needs is a good dose of scotch before bed and a vacation." A male voice with a tinge of unintentional hostility could be heard retreating into the background.

"Shush. He's coming round now. Mulder, can you hear me? Mulder, you need to wake up." The brunette's voice seemed commanding, without being stern. He did as she asked.

Mulder leaned against the sink, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. Next to him, the gentle touch of Dana Scully made him shiver all over again. "I guess Monica's pretty good then huh?" She talked over the noise of the gushing water as he filled the glass with the clear liquid, his hand still shaking violently.

"What makes you say that?" He snapped at her, his breathing becoming a little more regular after the first few sips of water. He knew Monica had dabbled in hypnotherapy in the past and now he had come to her asking for a cure for his sleepless nights. He'd not slept in five days, a side effect of which seemed to be the exasperated feeling that had caused him to snap at those closest to him frequently over the last week. It had been her idea to approach Monica for help, although he was sure that she'd try anything to bring him back to his former self. He didn't blame her.

"Mulder, are you okay?" She followed him as he walked back toward the living room, where John watched the television. He sat himself down, graciously taking the small glass of strong smelling liquid from the other man.

"I'm fine, I just. . . I just need to sit down." He put a hand to his head. He knew how obtuse he sounded, but the truth was he couldn't figure out how he felt himself, let alone convey his feelings to the others.

"Don't get me wrong," John leaned over to him, "I can't imagine how this will work, but I don't think you should be feeling like this. Man, you look like hell."

"Ha." Mulder sighed, the friendliness creeping back into his manner. The truth was he had no recollection of what had happened over the last few minutes, save for feeling totally exhausted and confused. "I'll be okay. We should probably get going." He pushed himself onto unsteady feet in search of his woman.

Monica kept an eye out for Mulder through the slight opening in the doorway. "So what's been going on?" She asked. She hadn't much chance to speak with Scully about the minor details, but the atmosphere between the couple tonight had been far from easy.

"I wish I could tell you. For the last week he hasn't slept. When he does fall asleep it's only for an hour or two and when he wakes it sounds like someone's being murdered. He's irritable all of the time, especially with me. I know that it's a side effect from the sleep deprivation but it's getting worse. Before this I could count on one hand the times he's shouted at me. Now we must be well into double figures."

"You don't know what triggered it? The sleep deprivation, I mean."

"No. Everything's been fine. Better than fine. He's not even profiling at the moment, so it can't be the stress of any case that's causing this. He's had pills and they don't work, they just make him feel more tired without being able to sleep. I guess I thought this would work. I hoped it would."

"It still might," replied Monica, quietening her voice as she watched Mulder approach them.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

She sat up in bed, trying to concentrate on the words that she read under her breath, but not in her mind. She'd picked the book up so that she might have something to do other then worry about what they would talk about when Mulder came to bed. The noise of the shower finally turned off and she anticipated his presence, eager for them to talk. She had driven them home, his body still exhausted and shaking from twenty minutes of someone else being inside his head. Now he emerged from the bathroom clad in only a towel, his hair still wet, sticking up at a hundred ludicrous angles. She tried to catch his eye as he wandered over, only to find him sitting with his back to her and to her utter disappointment, lying down in that position too, without uttering a word. She couldn't sleep while this weighed on her mind. Sliding down into a horizontal position, she wrapped a leg over his waist and moved her arm under his, to wrap around his chest. At first he was impassive, but relief swept through her, as he responded to her touch, bringing her hand up to his lips and resting it there for the longest time.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, still with his back to her. "You deserve better than this, but I can't help it."

"Tell me." She said as he turned over. "Tell me how you feel."

Looking down on him she could see the effect that the last few days had had on his face. His eyes displayed dark circles and the graze of stubble had begun to escalate into an untidy mess. He sighed, avoiding her eyes again, choosing instead to look up at the ceiling.

"How can I feel tired and wired all at the same time?" he asked mournfully.

"How do you mean?" She kept her voice gentle, relieved that he would talk about it now.

"I can't sleep. When I do, it feels like I've not even been asleep. I don't feel tired. It's like I don't feel tired but I'm experiencing all the side effects of being tired."

She nodded at that. She had noticed the change in his manner. He had become irritable and unsociable towards her at night too, often leaving their bed and sleeping on the sofa. He must have interpreted her silence correctly.

"I'm sorry Scully. I can't help it. I know that's not what you want to hear." Still he avoided her gaze, covering his face with his hand. She sighed out heavily, accepting defeat tonight. Instead she settled for him letting her hold him. Lying against his chest and feeling his arms come up around her. They lay like this for several minutes, quiet and still, neither knowing what to say.

She let her hands wander to where the towel no longer existed, feeling the crisp springy curls under her fingers. She didn't want to push him, but she needed some indication that they would be okay, that this problem was not bigger than the two of them. When had she become so insecure? Why on earth did she think that they needed to do this to cement what she should already know? She ignored that sensible voice, and continued her journey south, taking the whole of him in her hand, pleased at the hardness of him already. She watched his eyes close and his breathing labour slightly. Soon she had slipped out of his embrace and moved herself lower, under the duvet. His body jumped as she took him in her mouth, gently applying the pressure but doing nothing that would make him think he would have to perform later. During the last week or so, he had never once done his usual trick of waking her up, pressing himself into her back until she could be persuaded to engage in this type of activity, another side effect of his affliction. One that had bothered her more then she could have imagined. In truth, Mulder made her feel wanted, loved, beautiful even. She had missed that, and secretly she knew she craved it. She felt his hands in her hair, applying no pressure, but gently urging her on, telling her how good this felt. Soon her name escaped from his lips, and he began to pull her upwards, towards him again. As they lay face to face, he begun to dispel any concerns she may have about continuing.

"Mulder don't worry, we don't have

to . . ."

"But I want to," he said, rolling her onto her back, positioning himself between her legs. In one movement the strappy vest she wore had been moved down around her waist, the tiny shorts having been kicked down and divested as she had rolled onto her back.

It didn't get much better than this. He made her feel like the most important woman in the world. It was like this was happening only to make her happy, to satisfy her. She yelped as his mouth latched onto her breast, applying almost unbearable pressure. His kisses travelled down, reaching the light patch of curls that started way below her belly button. His tongue slipped between her folds, making her jump once before her body relaxed into the rhythm. Soon she became rigid in concentration, knowing that soon she'd be there. Suddenly she pulled her ankles against his back, urging him up towards her. After two or three hard nudges he finally gave in, and as he climbed toward her she saw his eyes were dark, his body panting slightly with his efforts.

"Why'd you stop me?" He asked, seemingly disappointed that she had roused him from his task. In a second he had his answer, as she pushed against his rear with one hand whilst the other guided him toward her entrance. He braced himself above her, slowly pushing inside, each time retreating a little, before pushing a little more.

He set a steady rhythm, accentuating the forward strokes, before easing gently back again. Soon this wasn't enough for her. She pulled her knee up and nudged his ribs, offering him a better angle if he were to take it. He shook his head, maintaining the slow rhythm he had already set. "I won't last." He said, half laughing. She could have laughed too, at his blatant honesty.

"I don't care." She reassured him, offering it to him again. This time he took it, realising that this was for him. She was doing this for him, for them. He picked up the pace, his excitement building not only because of the better sensation, but also for the sight of the woman underneath him, clearly feeling similar gratification. She felt his body stiffen, his pace becoming erratic and careless, whilst his eyes suddenly screwed shut.

"Oh God, Scully." he put his hands in her hair, fisting bunches of it as he continued to hammer her into the bed. "Scully, I'm coming already. Scully . . . " He panted breathlessly.

"It's alright." She reached up and stroked his hair. "It doesn't matter." She knew he'd always been a little conceited in this respect. He was well aware of his competence in this particular area of their relationship. They had spent very little time on trial and error in the early part of their physical relationship, having discovered a serious compatibility more or less straight away. Even after such a successful first few couplings, they had found improvement as time went on and any initial awkwardness faded. He seemed to sense, or know, what to do almost immediately, and now he rarely failed to bring her to climax before himself. He'd only laughed at her when she'd once asked if he was ever concerned that they might not have been physically compatible. He'd told her not to ask stupid questions, then relented to tell her how many times she'd given him a hard on just by opening the mail. She had been sure the story was meant as a compliment, even if it was an exaggeration.

Now she could feel him holding back, delaying his own indulgence for the sake of hers. She put a hand on his chest, pushing him away from her. The action slowed him, and forced him to back off and meet her eyes. She pushed again gently, moving from underneath him, realising from the disappointment on his face that he had no idea of what she was trying to achieve. As he rolled off her, she pounced, quickly lowering herself onto him, and eliciting from him an agonising moan. Soon he reached to grip her hips, moving her back and forth, and becoming extremely vocal in the process. It wasn't long before his body had stiffened again, and he began bucking up into her, filling her with his seed. He reached for her straight after, pulling her down onto his chest where she lay quietly. "God, Scully . . ." He breathed heavily, moving his hands to her hair. "That was amazing. I don't deserve you."

"You're right." She pushed up off his chest so that they had eye contact. "You don't always deserve me. Good job you're stuck with me." She moved forward to quickly catch his lips, surprised when he took a firm hold, pulling her to him in an intense and passionate kiss.

"I love you so much Scully. I don't ever want to screw this up."

She tutted at him now, at the glimmer of insecurity even after all this time. "You won't Mulder."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

(Day 2)

He woke with a start, sucking the air into his lungs in one huge gasp. He immediately stared to his right, to Scully who merely stirred in reaction to his body's violent reaction. He couldn't remember what he dreamed, only images of faces looking down on him, laughing at him. His mind searched for the specifics, recalling even less now then a moment ago. Carefully he extricated himself from the tangled sheets, not wanting to wake her. There was no point in both of them being tired and miserable tomorrow.

He crept downstairs, muting the television as soon as he switched it on. Surfing through the channels, his brain worked to quickly decipher which images would appeal. Then he saw something that really did appeal. It seemed a cliché scenario from any adult movie, with some helpless young brunette running naked through the woods, pursued by the typical brawn on heat. He sat back and considered what Scully would think if she caught him. It was an issue they had never had to tackle head on, as his need to watch such material had mostly faded once Scully and he had entered a physical relationship. There had been the odd occasion, when she had been at work and he had waited up for her. These times he had struggled to find fulfilment, knowing that soon the real thing would walk through the door and be so much better.

He watched intently as the brawn soon caught up, wrestling the girl to the floor. The subject matter seemed pretty bleak, and for a moment he went to turn it over. He didn't need any more austere thoughts right now. He picked up the remote and tapped the buttons. The channel seemed to change but the picture didn't. He pressed harder, finding the images on every channel to be the same – but now the picture was grey, the only colour being the red liquid seeping from her mouth. He moved forward now, putting his face closer to the screen. Then she turned her head.

And looked right at him.

He roused slowly, from what felt like a five-minute nap. When he looked at the clock he realised it may as well have been just that. He heard the familiar sounds of the kitchen behind him, his stomach churning as he saw the television still emitting the same type of material that it did last night, and that Scully must have come down to it this morning. He quickly sat up and switched it off, getting it together enough to pad into the kitchen where the clutter from last night had been cleared away.

"Scully . . ." He placed his hands on her shoulders as he walked behind her. She turned round quickly.

"Mulder, you don't owe me any explanations. But just promise me you'll see a specialist if Monica's methods don't work, before this," she motioned to the sofa, "becomes a habit."

"Scully, if it's about what was on the TV," he followed her as she grabbed her coat and medical bag.

"It's not about that, Mulder, it's about your health . . . and your job. Carter called this morning. He's expecting something from you soon."

He sighed then, anxious at the thought of having to write anything in this condition. She picked up on this, going toward him and placing her free hand on his arm.

"Why don't I give you something to knock you out, just for today?"

He nodded reluctantly, rubbing his face in his hands to dispel the sleepy feeling that had now become a natural state for him.

Coming to, he bunched the cool duvet toward him, feeling refreshed and wide-awake for the first time in days. He sat up, grabbing his wristwatch that sat on the bedside table. It read four-thirty. He'd been asleep for nearly seven hours, no wonder he felt better. He swung his legs out of the bed, hitting a pair of sneakers with his feet. He pulled on a pair of jeans and headed out into the living room, noting how dark it seemed outside.

As he descended the stairs, he noted movement in the doorway of the kitchen. His footsteps naturally softened; a habit from the old days where at least he would have been armed with a gun. The movement suddenly had a friend, sound, making it real.

As the sound grew louder, he prepared himself, but even then he still jumped as the fox ran out of the kitchen and straight into view. In its mouth something moved. A feathered animal fought and struggled, trapped between the jaws of the creature. How awful it must be, he thought, to be resigned to imminent death but being able to do nothing about it but wait.

He slowly walked toward the fox, hoping it would drop the bird. For a second it simply stood, watching Mulder, waiting for him to approach. At the last moment it fled, down the hall toward the office. He chased it, jogging down the hall that seemed longer then ever, finally rounding the corner into his office.

Upon entering, he quickly checked himself, the freezing air hitting his chest like a shard of glass.

"Scully?" He ventured forward to the figure sitting in his chair, facing the wall. It wasn't Scully; the hair on the head was longer, darker, like rat's tails. The shoulders were broader and she looked wet, blue with cold. The chair began to turn slowly, revealing more of the figure. She faced him now, the girl from the TV.

His body lifted off the bed, and fell with a thud. Pain filled his chest as he gulped huge pockets of air into his lungs. A dream. He'd dreamed it. He sat up now, fumbling for the wristwatch he usually left on the table at his bedside. Four thirty. He'd been asleep for nearly seven hours.

As he swung his legs out onto the floor, he swore under his breath as he stubbed his toe on a stray sneaker. Suddenly, memories of his dream flooded back, even more so as he heard a rustling sound coming from the direction of the stairs. He got up and headed out to investigate. The sound grew louder, and he rushed a little more, half knowing what to expect.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he changed his mind, heading straight to the office. He paused before the door, part of him not wanting to see. The handle felt cool in his palm, but he persisted anyway, curious as to whether this was still a dream.

"Mulder!"

He gasped as the voice behind him rang sharp in the silence. The hand on his shoulder caused his body to flinch away, turning quickly.

"God, Mulder, you scared me. Are you okay?" His body settled as Scully removed her hand, also frightened by his sharp reaction.

"I'm fine, Scully. You startled me." They walked back into the kitchen as they talked.

"Sorry, I thought for a moment you were sleepwalking."

"Me too." He said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Are you feeling better?" She removed his hand and replaced it with her own. "You look sick, Mulder, did you sleep at all?"

"Seven hours straight. Although I dreamed so much I don't feel rested at all."

"What did you dream?" She offered him water from a bottle.

"I don't know yet. I haven't worked it out – but I want to go see Monica."

"Monica? Why?"

"I want to know what she did to me. You were there Scully, tell me what she said to me, to make me have these dreams."

"Mulder, you had the dreams before you saw her."

"No, I didn't have these dreams, Scully. I want to know what she said. If you won't tell me, I'll go see her."

He turned to go back upstairs and dress. When he returned, he opened the front door, only turning as she spoke one last time.

"She said. . ." She hesitated now. "It was nothing, Mulder, it hardly means a thing."

"What?"

"She told you that whatever was on your mind would come to the surface. She told you to resolve your demons."

He left, grimly noting the dead bird outside the front door.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Mulder? What are you doing here?" Monica looked him up and down, thinking he looked even worse then the day before.

"Is this a bad time?" He asked, shivering in the cold.

"Of course not, I'm just surprised to see you. Are you sick?"

"Possibly." He said, walking around her to get inside.

"Okay..." She said to herself, before turning to follow.

"Hang on, let me get this right. Your sleep patterns are worse?" She sat in front of him now, in the comfort of the living room where John had also taken residence.

"Not exactly. I am sleeping now which is great, but it's so ...disturbed."

"It was disturbed before." She hadn't meant to sound so defensive of her methods.

"Not like this." He shook his head. "This is different." He looked down uncomfortably.

She could sense he was holding back, and gave John the signal that they needed privacy. He took the hint.

"Why don't I go and pour you a scotch. You're in no position to drive home anyway, I'll take you."

Mulder nodded gratefully, waiting until he was well out of earshot.

"There's a girl. I'm seeing her when I sleep."

"Thats nothing unusual Fox. Although you may want to keep quiet about that."

Again he shook his head. "It's not just in my dreams. I'm seeing her when I'm awake too, in the house and on the television. I know I dream about her more then I remember. I can feel it."

"Don't you think it's far more likely that some old case has triggered a memory? Or that this is a side affect of sleep deprivation?"

"It's not like that. I want you to hypnotise me again. I want to find out who this girl is."

"Close your eyes, relax. Just concentrate on the sound of my voice, and on the rhythm of your breathing. You're back in the dark room. The screen is in front of you and it moves closer. As it moves closer you can see words. You focus on the words now, nothing else matters. The words are blurry but as you drift towards them, they begin to clear. What do the words say?"

"Ahhh!" He leapt out of the seat, almost hitting Monica in the face.

"What did you see?" She had knelt in front of him and now looked at him with incredulity.

"What do you mean? I saw nothing. I was only out for a second." He looked over for a clock, needing to gauge the time.

"Mulder, you were out for about twenty minutes. You had some kind of event." She put a hand to his forehead, feeling his skin burn.

"What did I say?" He choked.

"You gave a detailed description." She put a pad in his lap. "I started writing things down after the first few minutes."

He took the pad in shaky hands. The words were random and disconnected. As he tried to make them into some kind of sentence, the knocking at the front door distracted him.

"I called you a ride home." John said, moving past them both and pulling open the door to reveal Scully standing, seeking shelter from the rain.

She was sure it was a case of déjà vu, with her propped up in bed reading, and him taking forever in the shower. It wasn't light reading she was into tonight, however, but the scrap of paper that she'd pulled out of his jeans. Random words noted down in a hurry that made little sense to her. The first few lines were a description of sorts, words such as 'dark', 'wet', 'cold' figured prominently, whilst the other words seemed to be part of a conversation. As the door opened, she didn't go to put the paper back, making sure he could see her with it, almost challenging him to become secretive again. He surprised her however, getting into bed and lying on his side facing her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"You wanna tell me about this?" She asked, holding the paper up.

"Nothing to tell." He answered, pulling down the back of the vest she wore and planting a kiss on her back.

"I don't remember saying any of that."

"Do you feel any better?" She asked hopefully, needing at least one night of uninterrupted sleep.

"I feel . . .like a weight's been lifted. But I don't know how long it will last." He pulled at her waist, turning her around to lie on her back. He wrapped his leg over hers and pushed the straps of her vest down over her shoulders.

He planted open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder, pulling her closer to him as her hands worked to push against his chest. Finally he retreated, nodding in acceptance. He was good for nothing in his present state, feeling tired and emotional. He settled for one last kiss, before he rolled onto his back, pulling her closer into his side.

It was the first time he'd seen her face properly. He studied it, noting the large eyes and gaunt features. Part of him wanted her, even though her false beauty did nothing for him. He found himself pulling at her skirt, shoving her hands away as she protested. Her skin glowed blue, and she blinked at him repeatedly, mouthing words at him that disturbed him. Rage consumed him and he put a hand on her throat and used the other to tear the necklace from around her neck. Both hands now went to her throat as the pressure he applied reached a maximum, crushing at her larynx.

-x-

She'd woken to the heavy weight on top of her and had thought nothing of it, until his hands had gone to her throat. It was only when she saw that his eyes were closed that she panicked.

"Mulder!" She clawed at him now, drawing blood from his left bicep. She kicked hard, hitting him on the stomach two or three times but with no real effect. Finally she began to scream, because it seemed the only thing left to do.

After a few more terrifying seconds, the screams stopped. "She was going to tell."

-x-

"She was going to tell." It was all he managed to stutter, as he fixed his eyes on hers. In a moment his face changed, conveying all the horror that had been mirrored back to him. As he sat up and jumped away from her, she remained still, unsure of what to say or do.

When he reached toward her again, she pulled the duvet toward her, putting distance between them. She knew it hadn't been him doing those things and she felt angry at herself for feeling angry with him. But he had frightened her. For a moment she had thought he might never let go of her.

She rolled out of bed, making her way to the bathroom. She lifted her chin and examined her throat, anxious that he had not left any marks that would be recognisable when she went to work. As she turned her head one way, then the next his image appeared in the mirror.

"Did it leave a mark?" he asked. It? She thought. She turned to him now.

"No." She replied. "You didn't leave a mark." She watched as he looked down at the floor. "You want to tell me about it?" She asked, putting a hand on the bicep that she had scratched deeply with her nails.

"I can't." He said, and she turned away in anger. He could have throttled her in his sleep but he couldn't talk about some dumb dream?

He followed her, picking up on her attitude and needing to set her straight.

"I can't tell you because I don't know. I can't remember what I dream. I don't know what made me do that." He had caught her up now, taking a seat beside her on the bed. "I need to see Monica again. I need her to hypnotise me again, to make me remember."

"Mulder, you need to get some professional help. I know you don't want this but if you had some kind of medication . . ."

"I don't want medication!" He snapped. "I don't want this to go away."

"You think this is more then a dream?" She asked incredulously.

"I don't know what it is. Whatever it is, this girl has shown herself to me in this house. She wants me to know something."

She went quiet, recognising his resolve and understanding that she would get no other response from him tonight except for the defensive banter that had begun already. She put a hand on his knee for a moment, in an attempt to be supportive, and then she stood up and headed for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" He asked, watching her pick up the pillows from her side of the bed.

"I'll sleep on the sofa tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

No, he thought, this was not what he wanted. He couldn't blame her though, not after what he'd done. He'd give her some time to calm down then go down there and sort things out.

As he approached the sofa from the side, he could already tell that she was sleeping. The familiar sight of her body lying without tension or worry was actually a welcome sight. He wouldn't wake her from it now, even though he wanted to. Instead, he went to his office. He would try to justify later that it was to do work, but in truth he wanted to see her again. She'd appeared in his office before, and he hadn't been back there since.

As he walked through the door he felt almost disappointment, as the climate remained unaltered. No freezing chill. No strange person sitting in his chair. He took a seat and turned on the computer, waiting as the machine made the familiar warm up noises. Suddenly, for the first time in weeks, fatigue over took him and he set his head down on the desk, falling willingly asleep.

She stirred, quickly easing her neck out from its uncomfortable position. Why hadn't she gone to one of the spare rooms? She knew why. Deep down she wanted Mulder to follow her downstairs and open up to her. She'd hoped she'd put him in a position where he would want to, even if it were only to reassure her, and to gain her trust.

Now a noise caused her to sit up and pay attention. "Mulder?" She squinted, rationalising to herself that the shadowy figure had to be him.

As he came closer, she noticed the sweat that poured from his chest and face as it glistened against the moonlight coming from the window. He wandered closer, not seeming to notice her. As he approached she noticed the dark liquid spreading down his arm, covering his wrist.

From her position, kneeling on the sofa, she grabbed him to look closer, to ascertain where it had poured. He stood still while she felt his wrist, finding with relief that the wound was further up.

"Mulder, what did you do?" Her hand slid upward, stopping as she felt the coolness of a metal object. Swiftly she moved to the small table beside the sofa and switched on the lamp.

The light seemed to dazzle him, and he brought his right hand to his left shoulder, his mouth widening in horror as he saw what Scully saw. He retreated, confused as to how this could have happened.

Scully sensed his own confusion and walked toward him, raising her hands to his chest to reassure him. He found no reassurance however, as he carefully plucked the shard of glass out of his shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Fighting his instinct to flinch away from the pain, he winced as her fingers mooched and prodded into the gape in his shoulder. Pushing skin and tissue she carefully examined the flesh for more traces of the glass that he had, only minutes ago, plucked from his shoulder. He didn't look at her, keeping his eyes straight ahead, grimacing as she pulled at the skin below the wound.

"Mulder, we need to go to the hospital. I wish you hadn't pulled at it the way you did, I think the bottom part of it is still in here."

He said nothing. He had remained silent throughout, as shocked as she had been to find what he had done. Somewhere in his office a work of art lay on the floor surrounded by the glass that he hadn't perforated into himself.

She dabbed at it one last time, relieved that the blood had clotted on its own even though she was pretty sure he had pushed the glass deeper than she could see. If he'd nicked an artery he certainly wouldn't be sitting here with her now. She taped the clean white gauze over the top, leaving him only for a minute whilst she found a loose fitting shirt to go over him.

"What were you doing in there, Mulder?"

He remained silent, failing to even acknowledge her. "Mulder, please talk to me. You're scaring me; I want to know what's going on in your head. I mean," she paused, careful not to provoke a reaction that might cause him to move quickly or lose his temper. She sat back, forcing him to make eye contact. "I'm afraid, Mulder. I'm afraid for you, I'm afraid of you." She looked away then, knowing those last words would come sharp to him.

"I'm okay, Scully." He rubbed his face, wincing as the motion made his shoulder ache again.

"Are you, Mulder? Look what you did to yourself tonight! You're hardly sleeping and when you do sleep you're hurting yourself or you're hurting me."

He reached out and grabbed her hand then.

"You don't know how sorry I am for what happened before."

She watched him carefully, realising that he was finally beginning to process what had happened. Upstairs when he had held back from her, it hadn't been him. Not wholly anyway. He put a hand to his face and she could tell he was trying to mask the emotions running through him. She moved closer again, pulling his hand away and putting her arms around his neck, moving deeper into him. He accepted willingly, burying his face into her hair and pulling her closer with his good arm.

They stayed like that for a long time, feeling comforted. She pulled away and looked at the clock, relieved that it would only be Saturday in a few hours, not a workday. She got up, taking his hand in hers and leading him towards the sofa.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"You're gonna sit here and wait for me to get dressed. We're going to the ER to get this looked at properly. We're gonna come home and sleep. Then we're going to a specialist and get this sorted once and for all."

-x-

He watched, wide-awake now, as the busy life of the ER played out in front of him. So far they'd seen three shootings, two heart attacks and a drunk driver rush past them, all before six o'clock. He saw her yawn, and waited for the soft weight of her against his shoulder. He'd felt it at home too. Now he wanted to allow her to sleep, feeling safe that whilst he was awake he would be aware of his actions.

Soon they were called over, and a female nurse greeted them in the small triage room. She took one look at it, and immediately asked what had happened.

"I did it to myself." Mulder answered, not realising how absurd he sounded. She considered him for a moment, and then couldn't help herself but to glance across at Scully.

"You're kidding me, right?" Mulder laughed, seeing a flash of irritation cross the nurse's face. "She's a doctor, if she were gonna hurt me she'd do a better job then this." He kept it light, not wanting to give anyone a chance to become offended. He sat still as she began to stitch the wound, not glancing up when she asked Scully to step outside to sort out an insurance form on his behalf.

Scully nodded. "Just don't tell her about the time I shot you." She said, leaving Mulder with a lopsided grin on his face.

She waited patiently enough at reception, understanding how annoying queue jumpers could be when trying to assess priority among the wounded. She had hated the thought of sleeping without him that night. Her stomach turned a little at the thought of tonight too. After all those years sleeping alone, one night with Mulder had transformed everything. Even though their couplings were at first as occasional as once a week, the nights they spent together made her want him there more often. Theirs was not a relationship based on clinginess and convenience, but they did need each other; desperately.

That very emotion, need, had sent her fleeing from his bed the first two or three times, guarding her feelings at the expense of Mulder's. But that had always been the difference. For all the hurt that he had endured, Mulder remained a sensitive person, comfortable with the emotions that could lead to hurt all over again.

He'd been free with the phrase 'I love you' near enough from the start, even though she had still stumbled over the words right up until his abduction. Now she didn't want to contemplate life without him.

"Can I help you ma'am?" The receptionist's voice startled her from her thoughts.

"Yeah, I need to fill in a claim form for my . . . husband." she had paused, reluctant to call Mulder her boyfriend seeing as though they were both past forty.

"Oh," the woman disappeared under the desk. "Gee, that might take a minute or two, we just moved everything around yesterday. Wait there please."

Great, she thought. At this rate bedtime wouldn't be a problem – they would both be spending the night here.

He winced as she pulled the last stitch. She had questioned him a little, as Scully had subtly hinted she might. He couldn't blame for being dubious of his excuse, the wound had been deeper then it first appeared and she had suggested that it would have taken considerable force to deliver. Never-the-less he had successfully allayed her concerns, and promised to be more careful in the future.

He got up, going in search of Scully. A strange noise hit his ears, distracting him for a moment. A voice shook him. He spun, watching as the dark shadow disappeared around the corner at the bottom of the hall. He followed without hesitation; feeling captivated by whatever was teasing him, coaxing him onward.

As he turned the corner, he half dreaded that it might be there, waiting. But he saw nothing. He walked faster now, faster and faster until suddenly he was walking into it. He walked straight into the pale green curtain, pulling at it, ready; hungry to see what he might unveil.

"Sir, can I help you?" A fresh-faced young man in a white coat confronted him. "Sir, you aren't supposed to be back here."

Mulder simply stood and stared at what he could only guess was a student doctor.

"Sir?" The young man asked again, this time with annoyance.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, and he turned to see Scully's small stature standing in front of him. The light seemed to shift as he viewed her in bright colour, not the dumb grey that had overtaken him without him realising it.

"Mulder, what are you doing back here?" She asked, piercing him with her eyes, holding his gaze upon hers.

"I . . . I don't know . . ."

"Come on," she moved her hand from his shoulder to his elbow, "let's go home."


End file.
